


Fire and Flame

by Lumelle



Series: Silver Bells, Golden Bells [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Courtesans, M/M, Nwalin Week, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin is prepared to be bored at yet another senseless party, only to be completely captured by the sight of a beautiful dwarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nwalin Week 2016, for the prompt "Gold / Silver".
> 
> **Please note** that this fic series will revolve around courtesans (who are sometimes, but not always, sex workers), and the various attitudes towards them within different cultural contexts. There will also be fears/implications/discussion of sexual assault, abuse of power, taking advantage of someone's financial situation/class differences, and consent issues. Individual stories will have their specific content notes. Please read accordingly.

Truth be told, Dwalin would have been much happier not to have had to attend yet another one of these inane parties.

Well. He didn't have to attend, not precisely, it wasn't like he was on guard duty or like any of the grand and important dwarves would have noted his absence if he had left. However, Balin was very much expected there, as was Thorin, and Dwalin was not quite wretched enough to abandon both his brother and best friend to the agonies of a mindless party while he fled. He'd have to stand such frivolities anyway in time, he figured, because he'd like to see anyone else take the post of Thorin's personal guard while he still lived and breathed, so it was just as well that he got used to all this absurdity now.

Except now Thorin had been swept away by someone or other — Dwalin never could keep all the names and faces straight, but he figured he didn't have to — leaving Dwalin alone with his brother. As alone as one would ever be at a party, anyway, sometimes it felt he could not move an inch without running into another overly important noble, but then it wasn't like he was counting any of them as proper company.

Yes, he was aware his family actually outranked most of those attending, and his best friend was second in line to the throne. At least Thorin didn't act like he'd forgotten to put on his brain when getting dressed in the morning, and Dwalin liked to think he was likewise not quite that bad. These parties were useless, nothing but an excuse for the king to show off the wealth of his mountain, surrounding himself with gold and gems and people wearing both, and the dwarves who were supposed to be ruling the mountain spent their evenings in useless chatter and rather too much ale.

Dwalin desperately hoped Thorin would be more sensible when he took the throne in time. Mahal knew Dwalin would go spare if he had to deal with this sort of thing all the time.

His gaze sweeping through the room, he saw no sign of Thorin, and tried to tell himself not to worry overly much. He was not Thorin's guard, not quite yet, and besides his friend could take care of himself. All Dwalin needed to concern himself with right now was enjoying the food and drink and finding something interesting enough not to fall asleep.

His gaze caught on a young dwarf, seated at the edge of the room. It was hard to tell his exact age across the hall, but he was perhaps Dwalin's own age, or younger. He was not speaking to anyone, not making a fuss, just sitting there in beautifully arranged silence, and yet something about him gripped Dwalin's attention and would not let go.

"Balin?" He murmured, doing his best to point discreetly at the dwarf in question. "Who's that?" Because if anyone knew all the names of everyone, it would be his brother.

"Hm?" Balin looked over to the dwarf Dwalin was indicating. "Oh, that must be one of the trainees of the Confidantes' Guild. I heard they were bringing in a couple of them today to see what happens at the parties. What of it?"

"Oh, nothing." As though he could deceive his brother with such tricks, Balin knew him too well for that. "Just never noticed something like that before, that's all." It was true, after a fashion. Of course he had noticed the confidantes before, they were there to be noticed after all, appearing at a different arm at each party, witty and beautiful and charming. He had noticed the trainees before, too, though not as much, just as beautiful with the silver bells woven in their hair instead of gold, observing everything but not drawing too much attention, not just yet.

This, though, he had never noticed something like this before, nothing like this beautiful dwarf who was sitting at the side of the room, apparently proper and demure yet somehow managing to fill the large hall with his presence. It baffled Dwalin how anyone could be looking at anyone but this dwarf, with the intricate arrangement of russet braids with tiny silver bells hanging off them, and the sharp eyes he was somehow certain saw absolutely everything in the room.

He was still staring like a wee dwarfling when the trainee turned his eyes toward Dwalin, and, for one fleeting moment, twitched his lips into a hint of a smirk. Dwalin felt his face heating up and ducked his face, hardly believing himself.

"Well, well." Balin chuckled. "Seems to me you would do well to start setting aside a little something for when that one wears gold, hmm?"

"Oh, be quiet," Dwalin grunted, trying to recover what little of his dignity remained. "He's just a pretty face, nothing more."

"I'm sure." Balin smirked, clearly not believing a word of what he said. "Which is why their guild is well known for producing the most well-educated and fine-mannered dwarves in all of Erebor."

"Are they, now?" Dwalin could strike back, that was never a problem. "So what does that say about the young scribes of your guild?"

"We tend to be rather more specialised," Balin replied easily. "I may know the laws and the customs, and I'm a good scribe if I say so myself, but ask me for an engaging conversation on the current weaves of silk or the latest news from Dale, and I'll have little to offer. But the confidantes, oh, they'll speak to you about anything and know what they are saying, too. It's no coincidence so many of them move on to politics at some point, and not just because so many of them have admirers among nobility."

"Careful, brother." Dwalin's lips twitched. "With all that praise, I might soon think you are one of those admirers."

"I would be a liar if I were to deny it," his brother chuckled. "Few dwarves can claim not to admire one bell-bearer or another. There's no shame in it, my brother, and certainly no weakness. He'll wear his gold bells soon enough, if he's observing here now, and when he does you may ask for a contract and see if it's only a pretty face he holds."

Dwalin was about to answer, but then there were calls for a show, quickly growing into a fevered chant. The king seemed to be in agreement, and Dwalin saw some of the confidantes slipping away from their partners of the night, gathering in the open space that was quickly cleared out for them. A couple of the trainees joined them, silently rising from their spots by the walls, among them the one who had caught Dwalin's eye earlier. Someone started the music, a fast, fiery tune that spoke of riches and revelry, and the confidantes began to dance, their little bells tinkling in a frantic rhythm to the music. They were all beautiful, enchantingly so, with veils and jewels and hems flying through the air like fragments of a dream, yet all Dwalin could see was one form, one dwarf, moving quickly and effortlessly like a spirit of fire come to life, the flickering torchlight glinting off the silver bells in his braids.

That night, Dwalin's dreams were restless, filled with fiery eyes and flaming braids and the tinkling of delicate little silver bells. The images lingered even as he woke, haunting him throughout the day, and though he dismissed his absent mood as the result of rather too much ale the night before he suspected Balin did not believe a word of it.

Two days later, it all burned up in dragonfire.


End file.
